


Shadow at my Back

by SLq



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Path (TV)
Genre: AU, Cal is Will, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7029193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLq/pseuds/SLq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal Lecter comes into Cal's life like a shadow slips through an open window. The attraction is immediate. Hannibal decides that the pretty preacher belongs in the Darkness with him and sets to snatch him from Light's jaws. To accomplish this, a transformation is needed. </p><p>Cal Roberts is baptized Will Graham in a most carnal way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow at my Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frankenberger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenberger/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Displays of Dominance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6674959) by [frankenberger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenberger/pseuds/frankenberger). 



The man had come in the dark of night.

Cal does not accept vagrants into the compound. He cares for all people, has dedicated his life for the betterment of humanity, but he is not as naive as to believe that goodness will prevail in every man's heart when faced with temptation. Cal's flock is tempting. Meek and kind, they need his protection as much as he needs their warmth around him.

The man had been no sheep.

The clothes he wore hung from him, too-large and too-small in turns. Rough with wear and the road. At odds with the way he held himself - erect and proud, eyes alight over an ever-present smile. A King playing at a pauper. Cal had blocked his path to the compound, opened his mouth to deny him entrance to haven. The man had looked back. His smile had sharpened at the edges, provocative. Promising.

The words of riddance had burned on Cal's tongue. From their ashes was born a greeting.

"Cal Roberts."

"Hannibal Lecter."

They shook hands. The man's nails had pressed into Cal's wrist, scraping over the veins. Cal had pulled back, eyes wide, but said nothing.

A month has passed since that first meeting. Cal has forgotten what the compound was like before Hannibal's arrival. The man is a constant presence at his side - during sermons, times of toil, the leisure of afternoons spent beneath the dying sun. Cal has even braved cooking for his flock once or twice, pulled into the kitchens by Hannibal's passionate talk of creation and consumption. Hannibal has a talent for the craft, the fruits of which he shares with the Movement's followers most selflessly. Cal is starting to worry that if the man is to ever leave, half of his flock will depart with him for the food alone.

The rest would go for the man's charm.

Hannibal is a gifted speaker. His words are measured and cut with the listener in mind, presented to bring about the most suitable results. Manipulation rather than honest belief, but still powerful. Very much dangerous. Cal had worried at first, had grown more worried still as Hannibal maintained his distance from the Movement's faith. The man has no trouble listening to Cal's sermons, delights in helping Cal rehearse his speeches, but the message itself never penetrates the cold shell of Hannibal's eyes. No Light ever makes it into the man's expression. All that is bright upon Hannibal's face is a reflection, not a manifestation of inner feelings.

"I do not want to ask him to leave," Cal had said to Sarah, a week from the day Hannibal had first set foot on the path. Hannibal had barricaded himself in the kitchens, muttering something about burned veal and refusing to let Cal in. Cal had indeed burned the veal, so he had not fought too hard.

"Then don't. He has been of great help, especially with the newcomers. Did you see him with Mary?"

Cal had nodded morosely. He had. He had also noticed the way Mary looks at Hannibal now, how she has taken to following him around like a lost dog. "It's just - he doesn't _believe_ , Sarah. I don't think he ever will."

Sarah's sigh had echoed between them. _Stubborn_ , Cal had heard in it, likely accompanied by _Men_. Then her hand had landed on his shoulder. Warmth, softness. Cal had stiffened, waiting for the pleasure, the guilt snapping at its heels.

His breath had left his throat in a soft, surprised rattle. Nothing. Nothing but happiness, pure and light.

"Is it not better, with him here?" Sarah had asked, ignorant of Cal's inner turmoil. Of his silent rebirth.

Cal had looked at her - had finally allowed himself to do so, after long months of avoiding direct eye-contact and physical touch - and smiled.

"Yeah. I guess it is."

That had been that.

Once he had allowed himself to accept the inevitability of Hannibal both doing as he wishes and remaining on the compound for the foreseeable future, Cal had found that he does not mind Hannibal's seclusion from the Movement. He likes having the man to himself, as selfish as that may be. Likes the fact that Hannibal comes to Cal's room after dinner, seeks out Cal's presence as the first rays of sunlight touch the ground. Not Mary's. Not Sarah's or Eddie's or the handful of others currently calling the compound their home. Cal loathes the thought of leaving Hannibal behind once the Light takes them all, but that is not his decision to make. If Hannibal wishes to remain in Darkness, all Cal can do is walk a path of Light beside him and hope its glimmer will one day sway the man. Until then, he will enjoy Hannibal's friendship.

Cal fails to take Hannibal's stubborn, greedy nature into consideration.

"Would you permit me to ask a personal question, Cal?"

Cal blinks heavily. He is tired. Beyond that, in fact - his body shivers slightly with exhaustion where it rests against the headboard of his bed, feet stretched atop the mattress before him. It has been a long day in a row of them. The compound is a bright, warm place, but with Cal as its single leader it is also often overwhelming. 

Cal thinks of this as he stares at Hannibal through hooded eyes. "Go ahead," he says finally, internally wondering how deep Hannibal is looking to dig. They have long passed the stage of permissions when it comes to intimate conversations.

Hannibal leans back into his chair. The cramped desk Cal uses to write his speeches and record his faith sits at his back. To Cal's blurry eyes, Hannibal looks like a king reclining in his throne.

"When was the last time you had sex, Cal?"

It takes a moment for the question's meaning to penetrate the sleepy fog of Cal's thoughts. Cal blinks slowly. His eyes widen. His lips fall open.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

"That's - what kind of-" Cal stumbles for words. A rare thing.

Hannibal looks back, calm.

"I do not mean to be crude." Cal snorts. Hannibal ignores the rude sound. "You are wound up tight. Every day, the key turns some more. I fear you might be approaching a breaking point."

"What does that have to do with sex?" Hannibal gives Cal a most unimpressed look. Cal thins his lips. "I have my prayer. I have my breathing exercises-" Hannibal smirks, a derisive little thing he saves for mentions of Cal's self-therapy. Cal's eyes narrow. "-and I do not need anything else."

"What of masturbation?"

The sound of the word in Hannibal's soft, lisping accent has blood rushing down Cal's body with frightful speed. Cal bites his lip, horrified both at himself and the needy sound that had almost escaped his mouth. Hannibal looks on. His eyes glisten knowingly.

"What about it?" Cal forces out.

"Do you indulge?"

Indulge. Cal wants to laugh, but cannot collect the required breath. Air leaves his lungs in great gasps, not replenished equally by his staggered inhales. "I-"

The bed dips. Cal leans toward the sudden weight, body misbalanced. He straightens with some difficulty. "Cal." Large hands hover over his shoulders, not touching. Hannibal's face swims into view. "Breathe."

Cal does. Slowly, the room spins back around until furniture and walls and Hannibal come apart to form separate entities. Cal gulps another mouthful of air before letting it out in a rush of laughter. "No," he says. "I haven't. Not in - not in a while. Too tired. Too - " barren. Too cold. With no one but Sarah to occupy his thoughts and Mary to sully them. Cal had done it, of course. He has fantasized - but fantasies do not warm a man. Do not soothe him down from the height of pleasure once the peak has been reached.

"You should," Hannibal says. Cal wants to laugh again. His eyes sting.

"Therapy, Doctor?"

Hannibal studies him for a moment. "Yes," he says in the end.

"What, _now_?" Cal aims for joking. He wants this conversation to end already, wants the easy pleasure of Hannibal's company back. This - whatever it is - is dangerous. This thing between them that has been growing and gaining claws and teeth of steel.

"Yes," Hannibal says again. Resolute. Unafraid.

Cal looks at him. He swallows.

"Will you-" he chokes on the words, his tongue. Hannibal waits him out patiently. "Will you leave?"

"Do you wish me to?"

Cal does not answer. He cannot. Because he does not, and he has no idea what that means.

Cal looks down at his jeans, at the lump of his cock rising hopefully between his thighs. "This doesn't mean..." he trails off, unsure.

"It will mean exactly what you wish it to," Hannibal promises. The darkness in his voice is most soothing.

Cal's fingers twitch. His hips push up, of their own accord. Cal's cock grows a bit stiffer as it presses against the front of his jeans. "I - I _can't_." It's shameful, how much Cal wants this. But he cannot, he should not - he has to be strong for his flock. Strong enough to carry the Light within himself.

Cal makes himself look at Hannibal. Makes himself open his mouth and tell the man to go.

"Would it help, if you were someone else?"

Cal lets out a puff of air in disbelief. "What do you mean?" he asks. His voice is ragged. His fingers drum against the bed covers.

Hannibal sees it all. His eyes are dark. They swallow the room's light and leave nothing behind.

"I will call you by another name. I will make you into a different man - a man who can enjoy his body and his mind."

His voice is honey, thick and laced with poison.

Cal shakes his head. The motion leaves him dizzy. "It won't work. It's not - not real."

"It could be," Hannibal murmurs. He has leaned closer; his next words brush Cal's ear. "I am very, very good, Will."

For a moment, Cal thinks that there is more to this sentence - that Hannibal had meant to ask him something, like _will you trust me_. Hannibal does not want for words, however. Cal cannot recall him ever leaving a thought unfinished.

Which means.

"Will?" Cal repeats.

"Your name is Will Graham," Hannibal says, confident. He had thought about this. The realization has Cal stiffening further, the press of the zipper swiftly growing uncomfortable. He lifts a hand to adjust himself, managing to stop shy of the rising tightness. Cal lets his hand fall against his upper thigh instead.

"Will."

Cal looks up. Hannibal smiles down at him, soft and sweet. Cal basks in the attention, suddenly greedy. He wants it. Wants Hannibal's eyes on him, like this. Only for him.

"Will," Hannibal cajoles, and Cal - Will, he can be Will, if it gets him _this_ \- takes a shuddering breath and dips his head in acquisition.

"Okay." The hand on Will's thigh jerks, fingers curling into a fist. "Okay."

Hannibal pulls away. Will feels bereft for a lurching, unpleasant moment, but Hannibal is only readjusting his weight. He seats himself at the foot of the bed, legs slightly parted. The hard line of his cock is visible between them.

Will swallows and spreads his own legs further.

"Take yourself in hand, Will."

Cal hesitates. The hunger in Hannibal's eyes feeds his own and Will scrambles for his zipper. The relief of it going down is almost physical. He presses his hand inside. The first touch of his hand over his engorged cock has Will hissing in pleasure. Will cups himself in both hands, covering the length of his penis. He wants to thrust, wants to fuck, but Hannibal's eyes are on him. Cal bites his lip.

"Let me see you, Will."

Will moans, low and soft. He lets one of his hands drop. The other curls over the base of his cock. He is not a small man, has in fact once been quite proud of his body and delighted in displaying its power. Here, with Hannibal, his sole concern is the man's approval.

"Gorgeous," Hannibal breathes. Will flushes and ducks his head over a pleased grin.

"Touch yourself for me, dear boy."

Will gasps. His hips thrust up, his hand slides down. The touch electrifies him. His blood buzzes beneath his skin, his heartbeat pounds underneath his tongue. "H-hannibal," he grunts.

"Yes, just so." The mattress creaks. Hannibal has moved forward, on his hands and knees. Will slits his eyes open to see him. The sight of the larger man prowling forward, eyes burning - for Will, only for him - has Will moaning and fucking up into his hand, spreading his legs as far as they will go in blatant welcome. "Are you close, Will?"

"Y-yes." He is. It has been too long, or perhaps it has never been at all. Not in this way. Not with Hannibal looking at him so, with Hannibal's desire swallowing Will's mind. "Can- oh, Hannibal, please, let me-"

"Such a good boy, my Will," Hannibal praises and Will _whimpers_ , pushes his hips up and wets his fingers with his own precome. The tension is building and the fall will be great. Will is scared of it but he cannot go back now. The bridge is burning behind him, and he had set the fire with his own hand.

"Please," Will moans instead, begs the shadow curved above him with breathy prayers, "Please, I need it, _please_ -"

"Come for me," Hannibal says and Will wails, arches up until his chest presses to Hannibal's. The sound of his pleasure is swallowed by Hannibal's lips, consumed in the man's mouth. Will feels as if his soul has risen from his body and passed into Hannibal's. Communion. "My darling, my Will," Hannibal whispers between kisses. His fingers soothe the shivers from Will's body, trace the trails of sweat along the man's temples. "You did so well, my dear boy."

Will melts into the embrace. He does not remember it being like this, not even when it had been him doing the soothing with a soft body pressed close to his. Will cannot help but think this is better.

"Can I have this?" Cal wonders.

Hannibal presses a soft, gentle kiss to the hollow of Cal's throat. "You need only ask, my dear."

Cal's throat closes in a dry click. "Must- do I have to? Ask?"

Hannibal's smile burns Cal's skin.

"I will give you the world, Will. You only need open your arms."

Will grips Hannibal's broad shoulders with shaking, grateful hands. "Yes," he breathes.

Hannibal pulls him closer. In the morning, not a ray of light will touch Will's body, hidden in Hannibal's embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> (Hannibal is a manipulative dick and we don't caaareee)


End file.
